


Mutter und Vater/ Now in the Ground

by Kraken_witch



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: I don't know how to tag things I hope this is sufficient, Maybe angst, Mighty Nein mentioned, Sad, Soliloquy, but no character death, death cw, i guess?, in english, self hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 20:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18080183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kraken_witch/pseuds/Kraken_witch
Summary: Caleb visits his parents grave.





	Mutter und Vater/ Now in the Ground

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve never really shared anything before, and this is really the first CR stuff I’ve ever written. So… yay? Hope someone likes it.

Blumenthal was a small town, the one cemetery was placed on a hill within the bounds. Long ago it had been outside of it, but the town had since grown to encompass the hill and its cemetery, shops and houses built at a distance around it. Flowers were beginning to pop up on the hills, despite the cold air still holding in these early spring days. A single figure made his way toward the cemetery. Hunched and walking ever so slowly. He stopped at the entrance, marked by the two piles of stones along the narrow path leading off the main road.

 

His eyes carefully took in the image, carefully placed stones varying in size. One plot looked fresh, not even a stone to mark it yet. The grass was still short, only a few inches long with new spring growth. Finding the right plots took some time. By the time he found them it was mid morning, and beginning to warm up. There was only the one marker, but two small round, unmarked stones to either side indicated a shared plot. He looked around carefully, brown eyes glancing nervously for anyone nearby. Seeing no one he moved his hands as if to pull up a hood, though none was present on his simple sweater. Kneeling down his image shimmered, as he dropped the spell. Brown eyes turned to blue, and weather worn skin paled and softened a bit, and finally dark hair turned copper-red mostly obscured by his plain brown hood and scarf.

  
He checked the marker again, leaning over to pull some weeds away-

'Here lies Sgt. Leofric Ermendrud and his loving wife Una'

Followed by the date of death.

  
Sterile and empty words, there had been no one to offer anything else. Just another dark mark on his conscious. They'd gotten his rank wrong too. Memory crept up stubbornly. He pushed that aside, he wasn't here for that. Instead, he felt himself fall to the ground, laying on his side. Staring blankly across the field, a small tree only a few feet away. He placed one hand firmly in the grass, grounding himself.

  
Silently he buried his face into the dirt, using a free arm to pull his coat tighter around himself. Words refused to come at first, and then only stuttered, half-formed mumbles. When finally he could speak his voice was soft and nervous.

 

"Hallo mutter und vater." He scratched at his stubble, and continued in Zemnian, "It’s me… umm- "

  
He felt pangs of so much guilt and emotion in his chest and had to fight just to remember to breath. He shouldn't be here, he thought. Didn't deserve to be here. And yet what would he be if he didn’t come? Damned, damned no matter what he did. Fuck this job, fuck the town, and fuck himself. He traced the ground to the tree, following the sound of a nearby raven. Focus on something else. He had to do this, to remind himself what really mattered. It was only temporary anyway, right? Soon enough this would never happen, never have to happen. Unless… he shook his head, no; no this was going to be undone. He would make it work.

 

"I, uh, I have neglected visiting you. Mmm, I’m s-sor---." He grimaced, shaking his head. Then spoke just a bit louder, changing the subject. "I've been very busy though. Working... working on fixing all th-this. This." He gestured around and to the ground. A hint of a smile for a moment, " It has been, um... challenging. But you always taught me things worth having are hard. So I-I must be on the right path."

  
He stilled for a moment looking to the sky. The clouds were plentiful but he could still see blue and feel the sun beating down on him. His mind began to swim with memories of his parents. Helping his mother with chores, going with his father to the market. A memory broke through, _“You have to apologize to your mother.”_ he recalled his father saying, firm, but not harsh. Never harsh, never cruel. He buried his face into the hood of his cloak damp from morning dew, tears welling up in his eyes. He bit his tongue and pressed himself further into the ground.

 

_You have to apologize._ The words echoed in his head.

  
"Y-yo- you know... I-I am sorry. I-I… I am.. so… so..." The words were barely audible. He couldn't manage more of that. He'd end up leaving, or worse. He took a few minutes to gather himself and continued, "Mmm, I'm getting close.. closer. I'm sure you know. I hope you do. Probably a bit more time though. I only mastered the b-beginning, sp-spells a couple months ago. They aren’t quite what I need yet though, not for this.”

 

He heard the raven again, unseen, above. A soft wind blew over him rustling through the short grass, and the leaves on the tree. He heard a shout, far, far off in the distance. Still he leaned up to look. He saw no one nearby. A faded yellow sheen caught his eye, a frayed rope desperately trying to hold a broken branch to the tree. Another, stronger wind blew through, and the broken branch strained, and creaked. He wondered for a moment if the rope would hold, the branch would heal and grow stronger than before. Or break and fall. The tree would probably be healthier for it. He fell back down to the ground, his distraction turning to memory again. This time more recent, what seemed like dozens of ropes above him. Strong wind blowing into a sail, and gently waves crashed into wood. Almost immediately he spoke, forgetting himself for just a second.

 

“Oh! I saw the sea… its... “ he shook his head, not possessing to words to express the vast calm of it, “I hope you two see it one day." He gritted his teeth. What a stupid thing to say, he felt a deep huff as he breathed out, “I- uh… I've yet to get the the better… the more powerful incantations. There's just not enough damn....!" He breathed, "Sorry, I shouldn't curse. I know you would have chastised me when I was young. I remember-" he started to chuckle but stopped himself, "never mind." His eyes went dark.

  
The raven was getting louder, "Caw, caw.  Caw, caw, caw."

 

Such creepy things, so loud and macabre. Father had never like them. His mother used to tell stories of how the creatures would appear after battles, to carry away the souls of the fallen. Caleb did not recall seeing any that night, all those years ago. Still as fresh as always. He lost himself again in memories for a few minutes, of ash and smoke and the nightmares of his past. The smell of fire. The sun on market day. Warped back between a brutal night and happy days long ago. Almost good, in a melancholy way. But eventually the silence became deafening, and he searched for something to say. He recalled his parents asking over dinner one night how his first days of school had been. When he was being assessed for the Academy.  

  
"I, ah... um. Oh! I made some friends. You'd be so proud, you always wanted me to have more friends." The words felt rehearsed, but not untrue; he hesitated to continue. But the need to speak was too great, at least this subject was... was less difficult. "Umm, there is Nott. She's small... she's been very nice, and better to me than I deserve. Even- even... well you wouldn't approve I know, but she helped... when times were bad.” his stomach flipped as he recalled being starving and alone, and then less so, “She helped. Oh and Jester. She's very funny, a-and she's wonderful, in her odd little way. They're all a little odd, I suppose I am too. That hasn't changed, I guess. Maybe… different now. Who else... well I don't wanna bore you, there's six of them. Or.. well, it depends on how you look at it. I… I’ve met o-others too. Mmmnn..." he trailed off.

  
Looking up at the small marker. He could still see their faces, hear them talk over breakfast. Smell the smoke, he shook his head. Very softly reminding himself, "Nein."

  
"Uh, uh... they've been good to me. They've helped, and..." he steeled himself, don't be a fool Bren- no, Ca... Bren. Fucking Bren. He shook his head and began to summon Frumpkin. No, that wouldn't be right. Not here. He put his hand back in the grass. His legs curled up more towards his chest. "I'm getting more powerful. Without them it would have taken so much longer. So I have too... to be- well they helped. So..." he shook his head as if that was actually filling the empty space his words could not. "Did- oh, one moment."

  
He heard something and looked up. In the distance he saw a woman laying flowers on one of the graves. He pulled his hood further over his face, and prayed to whatever might listen to a creature such as himself, he wouldn't be notice. Staying still on the ground and silent, until he was sure she had left.

 

He sighed, that had been too close. "Well, it's getting late. My friends... I'll be here a few days. I.. uh.. Hmm. Perhaps I'll come again." the words felt like a lie even as they left his lips. He scolded himself internally, coward, worthless.

 

He didn’t get up though. Something small -foolish he thought- was tugging at him. His mind insisted on being difficult.

  
After a moment he spoke, so soft the quiet wind might have muffled it, "Y-you know before, before I go. If, if you can..." no it wouldn't make sense, he thought, and explained out loud, "I hope I can avoid it, but I know that, that if I can make a wish I could get... could fix this. S-so, so the words are difficult though. If, maybe, you could think of… of, ah, anything?" Such a silly exercise, they couldn't answer. He'd ensured that. But he continued, barely audible, "J-just... Mother you always had such a way with words. And Father your way, your... you always helped me, even with the more difficult problems. In your way. So... maybe let me... Jester and Caduceus and Fjord, they have dreams. Ja? If... if you'd allow me. I know that I don't deserve it... I know." His voice faltered, he’d said as much as he could manage.

  
He curled tighter into the ground hand digging into the dirt. Choking on the feeling rising, fighting in his chest. He put one hand in a pocket and began to count the coins there. Bringing it out to itch at his arm when he'd gotten more hold over himself. _Pitiful_ , the word echoed through his mind. Finally he reigned himself in, pushing himself into action before old demons took hold.

  
He got up, sitting before the marker, "Well I must be going now.” He said hastily patting the ground lightly despite himself. “Go-- mnn." he furrowed his brow, shaking his head a little, and stood.

  
Walking past the tree, the raven now silent, he recast the spell to hide himself and walked briskly back to the inn. He expected everyone would be awake when he returned. He’d make an excuse about needing to study, or feeling ill and hole up in his room for the day. He had so much to do, so, so much before he could finally rest.

**Author's Note:**

> 1  
> No one really read this before I posted it except me. AKA not beta-ed?  
> 2  
> There's a bit of bad self talk and some references to his past. But nothing outright about the act.  
> 3  
> I don’t really know much about military ranks, and didn’t want to get fancy making stuff up.  
> My knowledge of how cemeteries are set up, especially old ones is close to none so I took a little liberty with that.


End file.
